Against the Wind
by Tara Laurel
Summary: Someone is targeting the BAU. With each member coming under attack, hidden secrets being revealed, relationships forming, & others being tested, not everyone may come out alive. And when the false sense of security of one's home is tragically destoryed, the others must fight to survive, 1 member down. Derek/Emily pairing. Derek/Reid frienship. Sequel to "Against the Wall"
1. You're Live

**TITLE: **Against the Wind

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter One/You're Live

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **Sequel to "Against the Wall". This is a CASE-FIC. It's not OC-centered, don't worry. It has WAY less Laurie in it than the first story even. A LOT of MORGAN, REID, JJ & EMILY. Some MORGAN/EMILY. Some great JJ/REID friendship moments. Some JJ/Will time. Some Henry time. Look out for some twists! IS Daniel Griffin back? Or is it someone else? Which BAU member will be attacked at their own home? Who on the team will survive this BAU-focused rampage? And what is Laurie hiding in her past? Dun dun dun (note the possible double meaning of the title? hmmmm. wow i'm lame)

**Please READ and REVIEW. Gracias. **

"And we're back. Sorry for the technical difficulties we're having here. This storm seems to not want us to stay on the air. Speaking of which, if you're not home yet, you should get there. Reports say that this monster is going to only get worse throughout the night. So, go home, get those flashlights or candles ready and stay safe. But me, well, I'm just crazy enough to stay on and keep talking to all you guys out there. Before we went down, we were discussing everyone's favorite topic, relationships. Linda was telling us about her ex-boyfriend Jeremy. You heard her story, now tell me yours, what do you think?" She paused and glanced down at the small switchboard, pushing in the glowing button. "You're on the air. What's your name and where are you from?"

"This is Cindy from The Towers. I think what this guy, Jeremy, did to this Linda girl is awful. No woman deserves to be treated like that and now he wants her back? Linda, just say no, honey. You deserve better."

"Alright, thank you for calling in. Looks like we have another caller already. Hello, you're on the air. What's your name and where are you from?"

"You know my name." The man spoke in a composed tone and Laurie could tell he was far older than most of her listeners.

"I do, huh?" Laurie replied mischievously. "Well, I don't recognize your voice and I can barely hear you through all that static. You might want to call back when the weather is better."

"I want to call now."

"Okay, then. Did you have any advice for our friend Linda?"

"I have something to say to Jeremy."

"Okay, we don't know for sure that he's actually listening but –"

"If he wants her back, he should take her back."

"Wh –"

"She's being ungrateful. He gave her everything he had and she just walked away."

"More like limped away," Laurie countered defensively. "The guy put her in the hospital for a broken leg and a concussion."

"Maybe she didn't listen to him."

The phrase hung in Laurie's mind as her suppressed memories ripped out of their cages.

_"See what happens when you don't listen?"_

_"You listen to me you little whore." _

Laurie closed her eyes for a brief moment and then shook her head to shake loose the demons.

"I'm sorry – your voice – you –"

"How's Connor?"

All at once, all of the air in the room rushed into Laurie's lungs and her pounding heart seemed to stop altogether just for that moment.

"I – I'm sorry?"

"How is our son?"

"Who is this? This isn't funny."

"No, it's not funny. You took my son away from me. You left me. I thought you loved me –"

Laurie hurriedly hung up on the caller and sat back shakily in her chair with a exasperated sigh. She simply sat there motionless for a moment but then suddenly realized the dead air her audience was now tuning into. She hurriedly sat up straight and leaned forward to the microphone. Before she could say a word to her listeners, the phone lit up yet again.

"Looks like we've got another caller." Laurie noted calmly, "Hello, you're live."

"No, I'm dead. Dead inside without –"

Laurie dropped the call again and ran her trembling fingers through her hair, taking in shallow breaths.

"Looks like we got some prank calls tonight guys. Alright, we're going to switch over to some music for you now to wrap up the night. I'm going to get out of here before I land myself in Oz. I'll be here, same time, same place tomorrow night. Here's a little something to lift your spirits through the storm, and not just the wind and the rain. Stay strong in your storms of life, and remember, you're not alone."

Laurie slid her headphones off and shakily stood. For several moments, she simply paced across the small studio, attempting to compose herself. The hollow click of her heels reverberated in the silence. Her last words on air flashed in her head and she wondered in great fear if she truly was not alone. She wasn't sure whether to break down in tears or punch a hole in the wall. Everything was flooding through her brain so quickly that she could barely keep up. As she turned around to cross the studio yet again, the corner of her eye fell on the small flashing red switchboard light. Pausing a beat, Laurie suspiciously stepped towards the board. Her fingertips quivering with trepidation, Laurie slid on the headphones and pushed the button.

"Listen, you stop calling me right now or I will call the cops!"

"Whoa, whoa, hey, it's me –" a familiar voice came from the other end and Laurie let out an extensive comforted sigh.

"Derek, hey, sorry –"

"Is something wrong?"

"No, no, I'm fine. Just prank calls, late at night, just a little on edge."

"Don't let those punks get the best of you; you're stronger and better than them."

"Yeah," Laurie mumbled and trailed off for a moment. "You weren't listening to the show, were you?" Her voice hid her inner anxiety.

"No, not tonight's. But I did catch your fundraiser for the women's shelter last week. That was pretty tight. Live band, guest hosts. Well, you're becoming a radio star if I do say so myself."

"Very funny. My guest hosts were the shelter's founder, not celebrities or how you make it sound. The band was some local college group. Not to mention, I barely have listeners. Radio's dying thanks to iPods and everything else out there that wants to kill my future career. The only callers I get are crazy drunks or FBI agents that saved my life once upon a time. Speaking of which, what are you doing calling me? Don't you have, you know, damsels in distress, creeps to catch, murders to solve, all that sort of stuff?"

"Hey, I told you I would stay in touch and I am doing just that. Besides, I'm still Connor's godfather, aren't I?" He countered playfully. "If you don't like it then –"

"No, no. I'm glad, really. I assumed that when you said you'd stay in touch, it was just something to make me feel better. I figured I'd never talk to you again."

"Well, you figured wrong. There you go again trying to profile people. That's my job, remember? I told you, girl, you'd be a great agent. You know peoples' problems by the time they say where they are from."

"No thanks. Radio is my home and I'd like to keep it that way. I can help people and go home at night not worrying that I'm going to get killed."

"Yeah, yeah." Morgan matched her playful tone but Laurie could still hear the echo of memories on his lips. "So, how's little Connor doing?"

_"How's Connor?"_

The caller's question rang out in her mind and lingered there as Laurie neglected to respond.

"Laurie?"

"Uh, yeah, sorry. Connor's great. He's with Ray right now."

"You sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Quit worrying about me already. It's been a year."

"That isn't that long considering what you went through. It's okay to have issues, we all do."

"I'm good, really. I did the three months of horrific nightmares and then the six months of counseling. No more nightmares. No more paranoia. Daniel is locked up for good and I have moved on with my life. I'm twenty years old, going to college for radio, pursuing my dream; even if I am just the night host of our campus station."

"The best damn night host that that campus has ever had. Don't you forget it. One day you're going to be rich and famous on some big-time talk show, passing up Oprah and Dr. Phil."

"Dr. Phil is a _doctor_, I'm just a college student."

"Well, you're still going for that double major with psychology, right?"

"Reid still sends me studying tips and book lists." There was joy and irritation melted together in that response.

"I bet he does. We all look out for you here. We all got your back."

"Do you do this with everyone you save? If so, do you ever sleep?"

"Only for the ones that we're held at gunpoint and kidnapped with. Oh, and no, I don't think any of us sleep. I think it's a genetic thing you need to be able to be a part of the team."

"See, right there. I can't be an agent. I love my sleep. Speaking of which, I know of a certain child who is getting pretty fussy right about now not having been sung to sleep by his mother."

"Well, give him a hug for me and remind Ray to be good to you or I will be looking for him."

"Okay, okay, wow you're bossy." She paused for a moment as her teasing smile faded. "Derek, uh, thanks for checking up on me, on us, even after all this time. It means a lot."

"Anytime, girl. Be safe."

"Always."

Laurie ended the call and did a last minute check of everything on the board. As she collected her things and pulled her coat over her arms, the red light began flashing once more.

"What does he want now," Laurie chuckled, "to come here and walk me home?"

She grinned as she picked up the line, but the smile soon dissolved.

"Laurie, how could you?"

"How could I what? Who is this?"

"Who's Ray? And Derek? Are they your boyfriends? Are you with other men? How could you do this to me?"

"Leave me alone."

"But you're never alone, remember? We have a son. We are forever bonded in –"

"We have nothing because you're not him. Daniel Griffin is locked up for life. You think this is the first prank call I've gotten about this? Here's a tip. Move out of your mother's basement and get a life, you creep."

Without a moment to spare, Laurie slammed her finger onto the button, dropping the call. She hurriedly turned and exited the studio without taking notice to the again flickering square button.


	2. Time Gone By

**TITLE: **Against the Wind

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter Two/Time Gone By

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **Okay, so sadly another Laurie-centric chapter. I KNOW I KNOW. But think of these first few chapters as sort of like the opening before the main credits. I wanted to have some time in between stories, but didn't want to portray all of that in words. But I still have to at least explain things and cover lost ground. I know it sounds like Laurie is turning into a Mary Sue. Believe me, I kept rewriting a lot of her stuff because I almost couldn't stand it. I want her to be likable, yes, but she has some serious demons she is hiding that are going to come back to bite her and the BAU. Also, she is headed for some very UNlikable moments so I had to give her some grace, right? Just please, sift through these first chapters and then we will dive into the BAU and some nice Morgan/Prentiss pairing, a lot of Morgan/Reid brotherly bonding, a fair amount of Reid/JJ friendship, some Morgan/Hotch fueding, some action, some pain, some character whump, twists, turns and a whole lot more. Just PLEASE...stay with me!

**Reviews are to me, what 5 hour Russian movies are to Reid.**

The halls were dark as the other students had long since gone home, taking shelter from the vicious storm for the night. Laurie was not keen on walking to Ray's house in such poor weather but had no other choice. It was that or have Ray come pick her up with Conner in the car. That would only wake the sleeping child and put him at risk in the storm. She imagined Ray losing control on the flooded streets and flying uncontrollably into a nearby tree. Sure, she was a little overprotective of her son, maybe even more than that, but who could blame her?

Laurie met Ray only a month after regaining her freedom in the back corners of the library. It took her quite some time to regain her social skills and preferred being in quiet, less populated places, although she still didn't want to be alone. It was a paradox that greatly troubled Laurie for a significant amount of time. She would sit alone with Connor and become anxious, but then she would go into the public and suffer a panic attack. The courts pondered if she was stable enough to care for a child under her condition. If it had not have been for the agents that saved her life continually supporting her, Laurie would have most likely lost the one family member she had left. Having nowhere to go and no relatives to turn to at first, she lived in shelters for battered women and single mothers. Morgan offered to find her a place to stay on several occasions, but Laurie refused. She actually found solace at the shelters and discovered that assisting the other women to overcome their past and wounds, helped her do the same. It was no easy feat though. Night terrors plagued her sleeping and she continually awoke in a cold sweat, believing that she was back in the old house, locked away. No matter how difficult life was for Laurie or much sleep she failed to obtain, she never neglected to take care of Connor in the best way that she could. He came first on all of her lists and she loved him with the fiercest of a mother's love. Others failed to see this and only noticed a young girl who had recently experienced a traumatic event and was now having horrifically disturbing dreams. Social services nearly took Connor away, but with the help of a few certain powerful and persuasive friends with equally powerful and persuasive connections, Laurie was permitted to keep her child. She attended government funded counseling regularly and the terrible nightmares eventually dwindled.

Ray was one of those guys that Laurie told herself every day was too good to be true. He had granted her the utmost patience while she readjusted to whatever was considered a normal life. Having grown up the eldest of five brothers and sisters, Ray knew his way around a soiled diaper and enjoyed spending time with Connor. He stood by her as a friend during her days at the shelter and as a lover when she underwent counseling. Ray was 23 and in his third year of college. Sharing a cramped apartment with his younger brother was not his ideal fantasy, but it was a place to stay. Laurie failed to notice its diminutive size and simply appreciated having somewhere else to go besides a dorm room.

Growing up, Laurie always dreamt of finally being adopted by wealthy parents. She would be granted an oversized bedroom with a large walk-in closet. Her new parents would own a tremendous yard that expanded far and wide. As a young child, Laurie had fallen in love with the outdoors. She frequented parks and open fields. She simply was enamored with wide and open spaces. Now, she did all she could to avoid such circumstances. While other students complained of the tight quarters that dorm rooms served as, Laurie embraced the small space. While Ray and his brother fought over counter and closet space, Laurie felt at home within the suffocating walls. Sometimes she recognized this oddity and found it quite remarkable and perplexing.

Where the yearning for open spaces as a child stemmed from was no secret to Laurie's inner self, though she failed to tell others of her past horrors. On Laurie's tenth birthday, she was moved from her set of foster parents to an orphanage for lashing out and being ill-disciplined. Punishments for such behaviors at her new residence were quite effective at preventing them from occurring again, but most certainly not listed on the brochure. On her third day, Laurie pushed another girl into the dirt purposefully and was immediately dragged to a confined and dark space and struck numerous times with a belt while inside. After suffering four sessions of these punishments due to a collection of Laurie stealing a toy from another child, breaking a lamp and insolence, Laurie came to fear and loathe such tight spaces.

Her first days in Daniel's captivity had been mental torture for the girl. She endured several anxiety attacks and even imagined that the walls had been closing in on her, the images of the navy belt flashing through her terrified mind. It was not until he brought her out of her confinement and truly tortured her that she began to prefer the darkness. When she was left chained and alone in the dim of the basement or made to stay in the small and black crawlspace as retribution for attempting to escape, she experienced solace. It was when he brought her out into the open to force her to clean and to cook, when he took her into the bedroom to torment and rape her; that was where she feared, where she truly suffered.

While Ray, or anyone in Laurie's life for that matter, failed to know everything that Laurie endured in her lifetime, he understood enough of it to accept her quirks and treat her with care and patience. Although he had never met the man that had inflicted so much agony onto his girlfriend, he vowed to never let anyone touch her like that again. He had no awareness of how soon that promise would be tested, and very possibly, broken.


	3. Waiting Out the Storm

**TITLE: **Against the Wind

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter Three/Waiting out the Storm

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **Another non BAU chapter, really, I am sorry. This requires kind of a lengthy set up that was too long for one chapter. Besides, it's going to be a long story so there will be PLENTY of time for our favorite crime fighters. Plus, T-Minus 2 chapters to some serious Morgan/Prentiss flirting! The timeline of this story is going to jump around a bit, so if you get lost, just yell at me and I will do my best to clear up the confusion!

**Reviews are to me, what Doctor Who is to Reid, Garcia & Kevin. (I'm really not good at these...please...just review lol)**

The young man paced alongside the edge of the white crib. His auburn curly locks appeared disheveled and he ran his fingers through them in desperation. Allowing the large yawn that had been lingering at the back of his throat to finally escape his lips, the man glanced at the small face clock that hung above the open doorway. With a short sigh, he turned back to the crib and peered inside. The small figure writhed and pounded his tight fists against his pale blue pillow. The young man reached down and ruffled the boy's tangled tufts of hair.

"She'll be home soon, sport. Don't you worry."

As he spoke the words of assurance, he found himself turning his head and staring out the darkened window. The sky on the other side of the glass remained black until a quick burst of lightning would cover it and flood the room. Above the boy's fearful cries, hard pellets of rain could be heard sharply against the window and ceiling. A roll of thunder sounded in the distance angrily and the boy let out another terrified squeal. The man frowned sympathetically at the terrified child and crossed the room to pull the curtains closed. As he did so, a piercing jingle rang out. The man patted his pockets and then searched the room with his eyes.

"I'll be right back," He whispered as he leaned over into the crib and then hurried out the door. The ringing continued as he jogged down the hall and turned into the master bedroom. Piles of thick schoolbooks and paperwork lay sprawled over the sheets. The man fumbled through the chaos until he finally discovered the small and lit up device. His brows narrowed as the words "Unknown" flashed on the screen. As he hurriedly flipped it open and answered, he was greeted only by silence. Frustrated at his frantic hustle to answer a call from no one, the man dropped the phone back on the bed and sighed. Again he found himself gazing out the window at the irate storm.

"Come on," he spoke to the silence, "where are you?"

He had barely finished the sentence when a different ringing noise sounded in the distance. The man rolled his head back in frustration and made his way out the bedroom and down the narrow hall. The small and square living room was literally only several steps away and he could see the cordless phone resting on its cradle. Again this lit screen flashed "Unknown". It was at this point that his spine began to develop a small tingling sensation. The apartment remained dark except for the flashing telephone screen and occasional flare of lightning. As he took a partially cautious, partially frustrated step towards the living area, a loud crash erupted from the opposite end of the hall. The young man turned around to see the door to the child's room now closed tight. He ignored the phone and cautiously made his way back down the hall. As he passed the master bedroom, he silently reached inside and pulled out the baseball bat he kept rested against the wall. Fearing the worst, the man came to the shut door and cautiously twisted the handle. Pushing the door ajar, the man leapt inside the cramped room, his bat readied. The sensation on the back of his spine departed instantly and he was overcome not with fear, but with the feeling of absolute foolishness. Setting his weapon aside, he crossed the room and inspected the broken window and the tree branch protruding through it.

"Great," he mumbled.

Sighing, he walked back and leaned into the crib again, the small boy still fussing. With a soft smile, he picked up the child in his arms.

"Come on buddy, I'm going to go find your mom."

The young man returned to the living area and dialed a set of numbers on the cordless. He waited until the familiar voice began instructing him to leave a voicemail before hanging up and trying again. This time he only allowed three rings before giving up. Dialing for a third time, he altered the numbers. A groggy voice answered after the second ring.

"Ray, what –"

"Cheryl, is Laurie there with you?"

"No, she was going to pick up Connor first. Is she not there yet?"

"No,"

"It's probably just the storm. Maybe she's on campus, trying to wait it out or something."

"Why wouldn't she call?"

"You know cell reception sucks inside that building. She's probably fine."

"You're probably right, but I just want to make sure. I'm going to go out and look for her."

"Laurie will kill you if you take him with you out in this. She doesn't even like taking him places after dark. Look, I'll come over, look after the kid, and you can go find your girlfriend."

"You know Mark isn't here, right?"

"Hey! I am shocked that you think the only reason I would want to come over is for him. Laurie is my friend."

"Okay, okay," Ray teased, "just hurry."

"Wow, thanks for the concern. I'm only running across campus in a torrential downpour. Maybe I will get struck by lightning or something and then you'll be sorry, pal."

"Thanks Cheryl." Ray disregarded her usual dramatics and sarcasm as his mind had more important concerns.

Something told him that he had to find Laurie, and fast.


	4. One Week Earlier

**TITLE: **Against the Wind

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter Four/One Week Earlier

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **I PROMISE we will be at the BAU SOOOOON! HANG IN THERE...hello? Is anyone still there? Bueller?...

**Reviews are the cream cheese to my cinnamon raisin bagel.**

_****ONE WEEK EARLIER****_

Cynthia Young was a closet introvert. No one would have guessed this by reviewing her work success. She had helped numerous children conquer bedwetting and had aided in the repair of some of the most dismantled marriages. From child psychology to decoding the nonverbal messages of deviant teenagers, Dr. Young had mastered it all and she was far from retiring. Cynthia certainly loved what she did and the people that she counseled, but after hours her reclusive self took over. Her two greatest friends were silence and books. It failed to matter if she was delving into the latest romance tale or rereading a Mark Twain novel for the sixth time. The characters in the fictional stories that she adored were deeply troubled, hurting or facing great challenges or tragedies. Still, they were after all, fictional. With her nose in a book, Cynthia did not have to imagine the abuse most likely being experienced by her twelve year old patient who refused to tell her the truth about her drinking father. While exploring a land of imagination and fairytale, she was able to not think of the horrific and graphic pictures that the young woman that she treated drew to illustrate her nightmares. Maybe it was selfish and a form of denial, but Cynthia knew she needed these enchanted stories to balance out the real ones she listened to each day.

On this particular night, Cynthia was halfway through another suspenseful murder mystery novel. A lighter piece by Nicholas Sparks rested on the side table, lying facedown and open as a back up if she needed to derail from the horrifying and strange and hide in the romantic. The killer was on his fourth victim and the muscular, tan, and broad shouldered detective was closing in on the maniac's true identity. As a reader, Cynthia knew the description of where this psychotic man was hiding the thirteen year old daughter of the detective's brother. It was dank and smelled of a mixture of must and whiskey. The walls were laden with unclean sheets and some of the bedding acted as curtains over doorways. The teenager squirmed and fought her chains to no avail. She glanced around and studied her surroundings even more carefully before realizing the horrific truth. She was not blindfolded. Cynthia sat forward at this character realization in curiosity. The young girl panicked, now more desperate than ever to break free. She was young, but she still remembered every line and every detail from the countless mystery, murder and crime shows and movies that she watched in order to impress her uncle. She had seen where her kidnapper lived, she was going to see his face when he came back. The girl knew now that he would have to kill her, now that she had seen everything.

Cynthia anxiously bit at her cuticles as the character continued to struggle for freedom. In her reader's mind she knew one of two things was most likely going to happen. She concluded that the hunky detective would swoop in and save the girl at the very last minute after some brilliant discovery. The second option was more likely of a darker novel and consisted of the girl being killed and her death motivating her uncle to kill the murderer once and for all. Still, Cynthia remained caught up in the drama and suspense as if she had never read a book in her life. She was so engrossed in the story that she failed to notice when the door to her study creaked open gradually and neglected to detect the presence of the unwelcome guest standing only feet away from her rigid body. It was not until the stranger lifted his rifle that Cynthia finally glanced up and understood her situation. She immediately dropped the novel and fumbled to stand, knocking over the hardly touched glass of red whine that had been resting next to Nicholas Sparks. The glass shattered as it collided with the floor, the clamor causing Cynthia to gasp.

"Who – who are you?" She managed to stammer as she stood.

"You know."

"What –?"

"Where is she?"

"Where is who? Who are you talking about?"

"You know who! Just tell me where she is! You helped them take her. You helped them take her away from me."

"I don't – I don't understand."

"You told her things. You told her lies, about me. You made her stay away. Didn't you? She wouldn't just leave me!"

"Please, I don't know what you are talking about. If you could just put the gun down, we could talk and –"

"I saw you with her! You were with my wife! Don't you go denying it now!"

"Please, just tell me your wife's name and maybe I can help you find her."

"You know her name! You've seen her! My wife, my Gina!"

The name flashed like lightning in Cynthia's mind. She had been a psychologist and counselor to women who had suffered abuse in some form for nearly twenty years. She had seen young girls through depression after strings of dangerous and neglectful boyfriends. She had helped broken and beaten wives escape from drunk, violent, work-alcoholic, cheating, you name it, husbands. She had heard terrible accounts of a number of of her patients who had been raped by their lover or by a stranger. Still, nothing had quite prepared her for when Laurie Bridges file hit her desk. She spent several days simply reading over the news and case reports of the incident before actually physically seeing the young girl who had been subject to such torture. With a glass of wine in hand, she absorbed all the knowledge she could about the kidnapping and rescue. It was as if she was reading one of her murder mystery novels, except in these pages, Cynthia knew there was a real face, a real person behind the words, not some fictional character.

The first session was not what you would call smooth. At least she came willingly, Cynthia had thought to herself. A majority of her patients are forced to see her by a court order or a concerned friend or family member. It wasn't as though Laurie truly _wanted _therapy, but she couldn't ignore the nightmares anymore and just wanted them to stop. She vehemently claimed that she could handle the physical, mental, and emotional scars, the new responsibility of caring for a child and how that affected the psyche, and adjusting to "normal" life again. Cynthia advised otherwise and attempted to have Laurie continue to attend sessions once her nightmares had faded, but this time, the girl was not willing to compromise. She desired to be in school, be home with her son, and go back to living life.

As Cynthia stared helplessly into the barrel of the gun, she wondered exactly how much more life Laurie, or she, would be granted.


	5. A Fine Line

**TITLE: **Against the Wind

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter Five/A Fine Line

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **FINALLY, we made it to the BAU! (INSERT FANFARE HERE) Now, for your entertainment, some proper Morgan/Prentiss flirting and feels. I couldn't do this mass story update without giving you guys some much deserves character love. Oh, and I also couldn't do this mass story update without ending with a CLIFFHANGER...dun dun dun. I'm so terrible. So...this takes place is the PRESENT, as in the same night Laurie received the ominous phone call. If you STILL are confused, I've added Morgan ending the convo with Laurie to help. See, I'm not so bad!

**Reviews are the cream cheese to my cinnamon raisin bagel.**

_****PRESENT****_

Derek Morgan stared solemnly at his cell phone before pocketing the device with a sigh. He knew he shouldn't be communicating so frequently with a former case victim, but he couldn't rid himself of this sense of duty and botherly responsibility he had towards her. Everytime he saw or thought of the young girl, his mind flashed back to Dana Carter. And now his big brother senses were tingling. Something had felt very off in his conversation with Laurie. Sure, she wasn't the most stable individual, but something was undoubtably wrong.

"I don't think I'm going to sleep tonight after this one," Emily sighed agitatedly as she gathered her belongings and stood from her desk.

"I could help you with that," Morgan leaned back and offered his coworker a sinful grin.

"Only in your dreams," Emily laughed and returned the look with a playful glare. As much as he got under her skin sometimes and despite his oftentimes womanizing attitude, she had to admit that he could always make her smile. "Speaking of dreams, there's another reason I will _not _be sleeping. Thank you, Walter P. Hudson."

"Don't tell me you're afraid of having nightmares over this guy," Morgan snickered. "You faced down and killed Ian Doyle, alone, and this guy is making you shake?"

"Well, did the Unsub _have _to wear a clown costume _every _time he killed someone?"

"You're starting to sound like Garcia. She wouldn't even look at the pictures. She was pretty shaken up over all this clown business. I told Kevin to keep an eye on her tonight."

"Our jobs really suck sometimes."

"You got that right," Derek nodded.

"Well, I'd say that this one calls for a drink, or a few. Maybe I'll forget about his big and bloody red nose." Emily rolled her head to the side, hesitantly waiting for her teammate's response.

"I can drink to that," Morgan chuckled. "Where's everyone else?"

"_They _all went home already like normal people while we got stuck here with – this," she waved at the piles of papers on her desk in frustration.

"JJ and Hotch owe us some serious favors after this," Morgan declared, pushing away from his desk.

"Be nice," Emily teased, "Henry had a fever. It's not her fault that a lonely and deranged carnival worker went on a killing spree and her child got sick after we arrested him. And Hotch had to –"

"We both know Hotch wasn't with Jack. He was on a date."

"Look who's talking. What, can't handle a little extra paperwork?"

"What I can't handle is my phone ringing off the hook because Reid gave my number to the damn press."

"So, it's okay for you to torment him, but not the other way around?" Prentiss challenged. "Seriously, you two and your little prank war needs to stop. I just cant believe how much the media eats this garbage up. Do people seriously have nothing better to do than foam at the mouth over killer clowns?"

"Hey, careful now," Morgan mocked, "look at what we do."

"Yeah," Emily rolled her eyes and bit off her words, "but it's our job. We help people. We don't look at our Unsubs as entertainment."

"I think, you, Miss Prentiss, really do that drink."

"Hey," Emily snapped playfully, "you'd be cranky too if you spent your day getting ogled by carnies. Of course, that bearded lady really had a thing going for you."

"Okay," Derek quickly stood, "time to go."

"What?" Emily giggled as she followed him out the door. "Am I making you uncomfortable?"

"You wish," Derek called back to her. "You're just jealous I was making time with those beautiful Austrian acrobats while you were being drooled over by men old enough to be your father."

"_Making time_? Please, those women hardly knew you were there."

They were out in the parking lot by the time their debate fizzled down to nothing more than faint laughter. The two walked in comfortable silence for some time as they reflected on the day and, secretly, on each other.

Emily simply watched Derek as he walked, slightly in front of her and at a quicker pace than hers. The simple mannerism spoke volumes to his character, but that was not what she was spending her time profiling. Here they were, two friends, about to go on yet another traditional late night adventure to a local bar where they could forget about the evils of the world. It was a normal evening, with normal activities and normal sarcastic banter. Still, Emily found it difficult to convince herself of such facts. On the surface, everything was the same, but hidden inside of her, something, was different. They way she looked at him, thought about him, even spoke about him had all recently changed. It was not enough for any of her brilliant profiling teammates to notice, but deep down, she knew it was true. She also knew the source of all of complicated mess, but was still not ready to admit it to herself. There was a fine line there that she was most certainly, absolutely, never, willing to cross.

Morgan steadily increased his stride as he could feel Emily's penetrating eyes on him. He was not sure why she was staring at him so, but he was not about to let her see his skin crawl. It happened almost every time she gazed at him from afar thinking he didn't notice or each time that he spoke her name inside of his mind. His forehead grew warm and goose bumps began protruding from his arms. He was not fond of this new phenomena and went to desperate measures to assure its secrecy from Emily. Derek quickly shook his head and rotated his shoulders to ease the butterflies fluttering inside of him. They were merely going to get a drink. It wasn't the first time that they were the only ones from the team going and it certainly was not considered by either party a date. Still, Morgan could not help but feel that more was going on than either was willing to confess.

"Where are you going?" Emily questioned, stopping in place and thrusting a hand against her hip.

"I don't know about you, but I plan on drinking enough to not be able to drive myself home. We just spent the last 72 hours chasing after a clown, we don't have any cases lined up, and I'm celebrating."

"You mean by downing shots and dancing with every girl in the bar while I sit alone?"

He tossed her a challenging look and opened his mouth to respond when a low rustle in nearby bushes prompted Emily to spin around on her heel, already reaching for her weapon. She stared at the spot for several seconds, despite her teammate's laughter, until she was satisfied there was no danger.

"Walter Hudson is dead, Prentiss," Morgan chided. "Getting paranoid?"

"No," Emily spat, holstering her weapon. "There _is _a difference between paranoid and vigilant."

"_Vigilant_," Moran repeated slowly, "over a gust of wind or stray cat."

"Or over a man waiting to to try and kill me."

"A man, huh? Why not a woman?"

"Because all men are cowards. They blitz attack from behind in the dark. A woman would have the courage to look me in the eye and hand me a glass of poisoned champagne."

"Well then, how do you know you're not in danger at the bar from an attack from some female killer, Miss Paranoid?"

"Because, I have no female enemies."

"What?"

"Women kill for revenge or justice. The only women who would want revenge against me are behind bars or, in a different country. And, I also don't take drinks from strangers, unlike _some _people."

"Hey, I just buy them for the ladies; they don't have to drink them. It's a, romantic gesture."

"It's a gesture alright," Emily nodded cynically.

"I want to hear more about these revenge seeking women from other countries." Morgan pressed with a laugh. "I wouldn't mind seeing Emily Prentiss in a cat fight with a Russian girl."

"I bet you wouldn't," Emily grinned mischievously and went to cross her arms. The strap of her purse snagged as she did so on a nearby tree branch and it flung to the ground.

Emily muttered a curse as she bent down to collect her scattered belongings. As her fingers grazed her wallet, there was a deafening snap in the night air and Emily felt her knees buckle under a unknown weight. The pressure was too much and her legs gave way, her body collapsing to the hard cement of the sidewalk.


	6. Instincts

**TITLE: **Against the Wind

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter Six/Instincts

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **Part Two and the thrilling conclusion to why the heck Derek Morgan jumped on Emily Prentiss.

**Reviews are the cinnamon to my roll.**

_****PRESENT****_

Emily's ears and mind did not process the gunshot until Morgan was already on top of her. Derek had hardly noticed the dark figure across the street until that moment. His eyes were fixed on something a little more desirable. As Prentiss bent down to retrieve her belongings, his gentleman instincts kicked in and he almost proceeded in leaning down and helping the agitated agent. Instead, the corner of his eye caught something. It was something that had perked his interest countless times before, but never that he could remember had it done so with Emily. His gaze drifted from her dropped purse to her carefully arched backside. The tight cut of Emily's charcoal pencil skirt shaped her curves quite favorably and Derek found himself not being able to help himself. Other male instincts were slowly creeping in, threatening to overtake his gentleman ones. Within seconds, Morgan realized exactly what he was doing and reluctantly twisted his head away. This was something he did over other girls, not his teammate. He was not attracted to her that way. Of course, he noticed from the first day he laid eyes on her that she was stunning and if she had been a stranger in a bar or walking down the street, there might had been a chance for something to happen. This was different. This was his coworker. The team was more like a family than anyone else would ever know or understand and Morgan and Prentiss fought and loved like brother and sister. Nothing more. No way. Still, Derek couldn't deny where his eyes and mind had gone, and what his heart was screaming.

It was in that sudden glance that Derek caught the shadowed figure in the alleyway. He could have easily been a drug dealer waiting for a customer, a homeless man looking for a place to sleep that night, or a lost and intoxicated bar hopper. Nonetheless, Derek felt a dark cloud envelope his gut and immediately flashed on his agent instincts. As he did so, Derek saw the silhouette shift positions and a long object of some sort became revealed. It wasn't until a car sped by, its lights illuminating the weapon that Morgan dove on top of his partner. He had barely caught her when the shot pierced the night. The glass of the telephone booth behind them shattered over their heads and Morgan and Prentiss did not require verbal communication to know what they were doing next.

The two agents drew their guns and swiftly crawled behind a parked BMW.

"FBI!" Morgan shouted, peering over the hood of the car, his weapon already aimed at the stranger. "Drop your weapon, now!"

When there was no response, Derek spoke the warning yet again.

"Was that a shotgun?" Emily questioned in a hushed voice, irritated and surprised as she scrambled to prepare herself.

"This better not be one of those revenge seeking women," Derek still managed to tease during such a tense and threatening time.

Emily glared at her teammate who was far too busy peaking around the car to notice her hardened gaze. After a second, she couldn't help but let the corners of her lips perk into a grin at his cool attitude and humor.

Again, the miniature explosions echoed through the once calm street. More shards of glass showered over the agents' heads as they ducked under cover. Morgan was the first to bring himself off the ground. Aiming and shooting within less than a second at the unknown attacker. He fired three shots before realizing his target had long since disappeared. He stared down the dark alley, waiting, expecting some form of movement to draw his aim. When there was nothing, Derek bolted across the street and to the alleyway. Peering behind the wall, he stepped inside the narrow walkway, ready to fire at anything that moved. He noted Emily's presence close behind and motioned a silent signal to her. He stepped forward and was met with a tall brick wall. Scanning the area, Derek quickly discovered a hanging fire escape. Without a word, he leapt up and began to climb as Prentiss kept her weapon drawn to cover him. Once he was at the top, she followed.

Morgan failed to notice as his partner struggled to keep up or that she was only climbing with on arm. He also failed to notice the SUV parked at the bottom of the building he was currently climbing. He did not see the man descend the steps from the rooftop or enter said vehicle. What he did hear, was the squeal of the tires from below just as he reached the roof. Morgan hurried to the side of the rooftop and leaned over, watching the vehicle speed away. He briefly entertained the idea of making a shot from the roof but then quickly rejected the impossible maneuver. Meticulously surveying the area, Derek continued to keep his gun at the ready until satisfied that the shooter was long gone and the bolting vehicle was not just a coincidence. He holstered his weapon and then looked over at his partner for the first time since the attack.

Gun ready in one hand, Emily was staring down and wincing at her other as she finally reached the roof. There, horrifically protruding for her palm rested a wide and jagged piece of glass. Satin stained her hand and dripped between her unmoving fingers. Morgan jogged to meet her and help her up. He took her injured hand in his and examined the wound as Emily sighed, her sign that she thought she was fine and didn't need help. As their fingers grazed each other, there was a sharp electric flash that pulsed through the two agents. Neither showed it in their expressions and neither admitted it to themselves. Yet they could not ignore the unnatural disturbance and how it was not the first of such incidents. They locked eyes for a moment until Prentiss suddenly looked down at her wound in avoidance of the potential flaring moment. Her brow furrowed and it was then that she remembered her purse and its contents still sprawled out on the ground. Any passionate notions disappeared swiftly from her thoughts and she huffed, putting her free hand against her hip.

"Like I said," Emily grumbled, "our jobs really suck sometimes."


	7. Dead, Again

**TITLE: **Against the Wind

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter Seven/Dead, Again

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **Phew. Everyone's still alive...for now...But see? I promised! We're still at the BAU! And you, my fine readers, get more Derek/Emily! It's a win all around.

**Reviews are the cinnamon to my roll.**

_****PRESENT****_

"Did you get a license plate at all?"

"No," Morgan huffed, tired of answering the same questions again and again. This time though, he didn't mind who was doing the questioning. "It was dark; we were like five stories up or something. All I could tell was it was an SUV."

"And you said black?" Another voice chimed in.

"It could've been black, it could've been blue. I don't know. Damn it, how did I let this guy get away?"

"Hey," a woman's voice spoke firmly, "you weren't the only one there that could've got him. I was the one who fell on a piece of glass like some rookie agent."

"I'm just glad you're both okay," another female sighed.

"JJ," the first voice commanded, "have Garcia pull up any security footage she can from last night in that area. Also, have her cross reference records to those who own SUVs and have a license for a gun."

"Shotguns and expensive vehicles don't usually mix." A man nodded.

JJ nodded and briskly turned, her thin heels knocking against the tile. The rest of the group sat in silence for a moment until Emily grumbled.

"So, now what?"

"Now, we go to work. Garcia's got her hands full with reporters trying to make this incident out to be something more than it is. She's given me our new case. JJ will work with her and meet us on the jet." He began to flash pictures onto the screen when Morgan nearly stood up in aggravation.

"Wait, so that's it?" He demanded. "Hotch, we were shot at. Prentiss was nearly killed. It wasn't like we provoked him or we were chasing an Unsub or anything. This guy attacked _us_ out of nowhere and we're just moving on?"

"Unfortunately, there's nothing more we can do. Strauss wants to keep this kept quiet and we've done all we can. We're looking for the attacker in every way we can. For all we know, this man didn't even know you were federal agents. The local police are following up on it –"

"That's not good enough –"

"Which is why I'm having Garcia look into it against direct orders from Strauss. If we continue to pursue this any further we could all be reassigned or lose our jobs. _If _we find something concrete, we can go from there. Right now, there's other work to be done."

Morgan slumped down in his chair and traded a curious glance with Prentiss. Sure, she was upset over the ordeal, but she also understood that they had little to nothing to go on in finding this stranger. She also knew Strauss and how she was constantly itching to find some excuse to reprimand Hotch and the team. Of course, Morgan was prone to the dramatics with these things. Still, Emily felt there was something more going on with him that she simply could not put her finger on.

Derek sat on the opposite side of the rounded table, arms folded and pouting as if a child. He too, was puzzled by his outburst and such strong emotions towards this event. It was certainly not the first time he or his team had been shot at nor was it the first time one of them had been attacked outside of work. He knew he certainly was not upset over having been attacked himself. He could stand a good stand off any day and not let it scathe him. Why then, was this bothering him so much? He glanced up again at Emily who was now intently listening to Hotch and the explanation of the new case. Images from the night before sparked inside his mind. He watched as Emily bent over. He remembered as he first saw the man, and then the gun. Silently, Derek thanked God that he had looked away from her at that moment. He wondered would could have happened if neither of them had ever noticed the armed man. He followed the barrel of the gun with his eyes in his memory, pausing the moment as if to understand. His eyes wandered across the street and found Emily. The man had clearly been pointing the gun at Prentiss. A hesitation on Morgan's part, a small error, any longer, and that first slug would have pierced Emily. No one could ever calculate whether she would have lived or died, but the possibility was clear. It was then that it hit Morgan like a slap across the face. He understood the true reason for why the attack bothered him so, but couldn't bring himself to comprehend the how behind the why.

"Okay," Hotch nodded, "wheels up in thirty."

Morgan shook his head to clear his mind and fumbled to get out of his seat as everyone was already leaving the room. He could not help but feel guilty that he had tuned out the entire briefing, but couldn't get these undesired thoughts out of his pulsing head. He exited the room and made his way to his desk. He contemplated finishing some paperwork before the flight but declined the idea as Emily sat down in her chair. He was not about to try and work while she was right there and his head was such a mess. He desperately needed something to get his mind off of her and knew the exact place to go.

"Hey there, baby girl," he grinned widely as he entered the room.

"Derek Morgan!" The woman that had been sitting in front of a myriad of computer screens leapt up and thrust her index finger towards the agent's face. "You nearly are _killed _last night and you wait until _now _to come see me!"

"Garcia," Derek sighed with a small laugh, "I'm nearly killed every day on this job."

"Don't remind me!" Garcia demanded, dropping her finger and folding her arms. "Still, on the job I can peak at my security cameras and tell you that the bad guy is around the corner, or know that Hotch or Rossi or Reid or JJ have your backs or that you have theirs. But last night, you and Emily could have been shot and no one was there to help you. I wasn't monitoring your location or using traffic cams to make sure you were safe or – or –"

"Garcia, slow your roll girl. It's okay. We're both fine."

"Don't '_we're both fine'_, me, pal. I saw the cut on Emily's hand. To you, Mr.-Macho-FBI-Agent-Man, you might look at it and just see a cut. I look at it and I see it as a result of you having to push Emily down out of the line of some crazy guy's fire. What if you hadn't been there? What if you hadn't seen him? Emily could be dead right now - again. She's only been back for two months and I can't lose her again. I can't lose you. I just can't handle this sort of thing like you guys can."

Penelope's words shot through Derek like the bullet from the stranger's rifle. He stepped back for a moment and imagined her words coming true. He stood there, picturing that he had not seen the man or the weapon. The two of them would have been teasing one another and then a second later, Morgan would have been watching his friend bleed, possibly to death, on the pavement, just as he had watched her fade away once before. The false image alone was enough to make Morgan's stomach twist and his heart wrench. He stared blankly at Garcia as she continued to ramble on frantically, not truly seeing her, but looking past her, as if through the wall and to Emily.

"Derek?" Garcia stopped herself short and gazed at her friend in concern. "Are you okay?"

Morgan neglected to offer a verbal response. His head and heart were spinning out of control and there was nothing he could do to control or stop it. Derek needed control. He needed power over his own life and right then his emotions weren't allowing that. He reflected on Garcia's question, turning it over again and again in his mind until he finally knew the answer. No, he was not okay. He was not okay at all.


End file.
